Please contact Captain Singer... Whu?

My first car. As shown. Only full of holes from rust. Only cost $140 (the one in the picture is currently selling for a low, low $29,500 - damn the luck). A 1957 Mercury Turnpike Cruiser with pushbutton TurboCruise Automatic Transmission. Yes, that's right, pushbutton transmission. And it was black and yellow just like the one in the picture. Cool. I was hot.

ONE of it's problems was the radiator. Actually not the radiator. The radiator was fine. I had to carry 20 to 30 feet of radiator HOSE with me at all times, about 15 gallons of water, several hose clamps and a complete tool kit. And about once a week, I'd have to replace the hose as it would BOOM! blow all over the place. I didn't bother with radiator fluid. It didn't hold it long enough to make it worth while.

But it ran. Most of the time.

A unique and unmistakable feature of this particular make of car were it's "horse-collar bumpers". They weighed about as much as the engine. My parents bought me the car. I think they bought me the car BECAUSE of the bumpers. It promised to make a good first car for an insane male 16 year old driver.

My high school was too small for the number of students enrolled, so they encouraged us to leave campus for lunch. We obliged them. This particular day I'm discussing, I'd left and had returned. No big deal. And I'd gone to class as usual. What was unusual was the note on my windshield when I returned after classes were finished. It said, quite simply, "Your car has been involved in an accident, please contact Captain Singer of the police force." It was on police force note paper. Gulp.

I looked at the car. I didn't remember hitting anything at lunch. I walked around the car. No dings (like there would be on this steel body or any would show in the rust). I DID seem to recall having parked it a few feet further back from where it was, but that was probably just my imagination. And nothing was gone from the inside. A radio knob was on the floor. How'd that get there? But everything seemed normal otherwise.

Now I'm spooked. What'd I do at lunch. Crap. Did I run over somebody and not see them? Oh my God. Am I a killer and don't know it? My brain's on fire now? What have I done? You fiend! Manslaughter. You'll be some inmate's boy-toy!

Better face the music. I called Captain Singer and squeeked out, "Hello. This is Rick. You left a note on my Mercury saying it was involved in an accident today. Did I do something wrong? ... No? ... He did what? ... He was drunk! ... He totaled his car on MY car? ... Really? ... No kidding. Cool! ... So I'm not in any trouble then, huh? ... Cool! ... No sir, no damage to my car, just knocked off the radio knob. ... Yes sir, BIG DAMN bumpers! ... Yes, I'm sure, I don't want to bring any charges ... Thank you, Officer. Good bye."

I hadn't run over anybody!!!!

A drunk guy had plowed into my parked Mercury, totaled his car and the only damage to my tank was it got pushed forward 3 feet and knocked off a radio knob. Didn't even scratch the bumper. At least we couldn't tell through all the rust.

Now THAT'S a CAR!